


Fatum Uitta

by SpitfireRose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Can't spoil all the secrets now, Canon-Typical Violence, Chocobos, Confusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Poor Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: Prompto's accessorized with a Ribbon to prevent future status problems.Being inflicted, however, soon becomes the least of his worries.A sort-of Sequel to Chocobo Down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no requirement to read 'Chocobo Down' beforehand.
> 
> As a refresher and for fun, the guys' chocobo names are as follows:
> 
> Prompto has 'Mico', as in camera 'Flash'. Gladio's is 'Ferrum' like 'Iron/Blade'. Iggy's is a humorous play on words, Kwehna/Coena, and Noct's chocobo is named after what he loves, 'Piscis'. I'll leave you to translate what both theirs means.

“Hey, beautiful.” Prompto cooes, approaching the love of his life. “You hungry?”

“ _Kweh!_ ” His Mico, the most beautiful chocobo in all the world, responds eagerly, nuzzling against his loosely closed palm to the sylkis greens within. She about knocks him over in the process though he never minds, smiling fondly as he offers what she wants.

The sensation of gilded feathers brushing ever-so-lightly against sensitive skin tickles, crafty beak carefully pecking between gloved fingers for the grassy goods. Humming in a barely concealed fit of giggles, his free hand strokes the gorgeous amber blends along Mico’s neck, scratches just where he knows she likes. From the camp’s kitchen, he can hear Ignis announce that their lunch is just about ready, and he indulges affections a bit longer before placing a tender kiss atop her head. Gladio’s off on the edge the Haven, getting a head start on prepping Ferrum’s riding gear with a pat on the sturdy bulk of a bird. Noct’s putting in his second nap of the day, contently nestled back against sapphire fluff without a care in the world, and Prompto sneaks at least a dozen pictures. He’s pretty sure Noct’s smiling in the last few, looking them over before skipping to the counter to help Iggy with setting utensils.

“Need any help with food, Specs?”

“I do believe I’ll be alright.” The Advisor gives a short shake of his head, finishing up stirring something that smells incredible. Aware of the younger companion’s need to feel helpful, he gestures to their pack of feathery friends’ goods with a gentle smile. “You may feed Kwehna, however, if you wish. She prefers the curiel.”

Of course Prompto wishes, happy to be of assistance and with task involving a chocobo. She’s a pretty bird as well, not a wonder why Ignis had selected the calmest avian in a soothing shade of pale lavender. The deceptively swiftest amongst the four, too, having bested them all at every race with a smug smirk that the strategic rider had some speedy secrets he wasn’t sharing. Unlike Mico, Kwehna waits patiently for the meal, a fine example of chocobo manners in gracefully swooping great neck down to take a beakful off of open hand. From the corner of his eye does he catch Gladio nudging Noct awake with a foot, sleepily dismissed by both boy and bird.

“Hey, chocobutt whisperer, come work your magic on the princesses here.” Gladio motions him over, much to Noct’s nonsensical muttering that it’s _Piscis_ before tucking himself further beneath the ocean blue wing.

“ _Not_ a chocobo butt, big guy.” Prompto huffs, but comes over all the same when Kwehna’s finished. Soft pink dances across fair cheeks, brush of blush drawing out the freckles splashed across like constellations as he kneels before the slumbering duo. “But, uh, I remember this fairytale about waking with a kiss--”

It’s gotta be his imagination that Noct’s suddenly gone still with anticipation, right? ‘Cause there’s no way if he heard Prompto that he’d--

_Kweh!_

That train of thought crashes like his behind on runestones, knocked over by an overly affectionate Mico out of nowhere. Being mad at a chocobo is impossible, especially her, and he’s reduced to laughter at her nuzzling his stomach, reaching for empty hands that flail for mercy.

“Pftt! Mimi, _c’mon--ah,_ that tickles! You already ate, silly bird!”

If only he’d seen the look of pure adoration coming from Noct like a brilliant flame, freeing himself from a protesting Piscis to give the blond a hand. Gladio makes a teasing comment, but neither listens over beating hearts.

* * *

 Piscis is smuggled vegetables from Noct’s plate, and a few find their way to Mico from Prompto’s as well. If Ignis notices, he hides all disapproval, far more sneaky in passing one to Kwehna when none are the wiser. Conversation is light over the hearty meal, compliments of clear skies in their favor for a safe Hunt, a welcome change compared to the previous time they’d gone after overgrown insects. Not that they suspected any trouble this time, choosing to keep the party together in exterminating the six deadly Wasps. Soldiers and Killers, to be specific, creepy crawlies all the same to the gunner who can’t stand them.

As long as he doesn’t wind up with a stinger in the gut and dying of deadly venom in the middle of nowhere again, he’ll consider it a good day.

The others, to his surprise, share this concern and aren’t keen on having a repeat of events, either.

“Dude, I’ll be _fine_.” Prompto insists for what must be the twelfth time, yet makes no move to stop Ignis from tightly tying the red ribbon around his bicep.

“Didn’t realize you’re such a fan of getting poisoned.” Noct quips in return, not having any of the overplayed dramatics regarding care for his well-being.

“Didn’t say that.” The blond is quick to defend himself with a wince, convinced that Iggy’s on a quest to cut off circulation, tugging the knot to assure it won’t be slipping off any time soon.

“Then it’d be in your best interests to keep this ribbon on. If the clerk is to be believed, this ought to spare you of any future status-inducing predicaments. We wish for your safety, not killed by the preventable.”

“So quit the bitchin’, Blondie. Curatives ain’t cheap.”

Prompto does quit the bitching, only makes a face when Noct teases that it goes with the rest of his black outfit. He wants to counter with what he’s got to worry about, really, when the three have got his back, or why they don’t get ribbons themselves. Thinking about it now, that hasn’t exactly stopped him from burning through every restorative they’ve got compared to the few they take when rarely needed, and Gladio’s right. Though he hasn’t seen the budget that Iggy keeps tucked away in that notebook of his, Prompto knows what a costly burden he is. So he holds his tongue. When Ignis asks if he needs more potions, he shakes his head, lies he’s good with what he has.

A few, he’s pretty sure, jacket’s pockets light.

He helps pack up camp until their return, hopes like he always does that he’ll come back in one piece while mounting Mico and loses himself in her comforting scent.

Like always, he’s never right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready to go, the guys set out on taking on "Deadly Extermination".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Piscis" translates to 'Fish', if anyone was curious for Noct's chocobo.  
> "Kwehna/Coena" means 'Dinner/Meal' to suit Iggy's dry humor and love of wordplay.

They hear the Wasps long before spotted in a clearing surrounded by rock, party of four strategically taking cover behind boulders. Six of the nastiest overgrown customers that Prompto really, really doesn’t want to deal with, ribbon or no, are buzzing about unaware of their hopeful doom. Even Gladio, toughest of their group and tank of a Shield, admits this could be bad. Prompto wishes this means they can just stay out of it. Take on an easier Hunt, or better yet just call it a day and pretend this never happened. Gladio is nonchalant as if unconcerned to Prompto’s concerns, and motions for them to dismount and prepare for a fight.

Prompto hates him.

Orders, albeit reluctantly obeyed, Prompto takes a second to calm his nerves by stroking Mico’s feathers, chocobo sharing the same fears as her rider. He can’t worry his best bird in the whole world, putting on a smile and murmuring reassurances just for her before summoning trusty pistol. Noct pats his bicep in passing with hand lingering on the ribbon, quiet action speaking volumes that he’ll be alright, and perhaps to assure himself as well. There’s nothing to worry about with the guys having his back, and his sharpshooting skills protecting theirs in turn.

There’s no doubt as Ignis and Gladio maneuver ahead under trained azure eyes, sneaking like thieves from one cropping of stone to the next with swarm oblivious. No dread at Gladio signaling for Starshell that he readily supplies, swordsman unleashing a warrior’s howl for their scattered attention. Not an ounce of worry at Iggy’s gymnast grace propelling him out from the other side, kicked dagger piercing the carapace of an airborne Wasp that goes down but not about to die without a fight. There’s awe instead of unease at watching Noct leap forward with a toss of his lance, warp-striking another of the creepy fliers into spiraling onto the tough terrain below.

Prompto takes a breath, aims, and fires.

Bullets barrage the massive, claw-like appendages that ineffectively fall limp where an ally would have been seconds before inevitable impact. Mini missiles embed themselves in surprisingly durable wings, enough to force a changed course of direction that isn’t dive bombing an occupied companion. From yards away Prompto provides what cover he can, extra mindful when a combatant steps out of the chaos to heal up before charging back into the fray. He’s not one to get cocky-well, _most_ the time-, but he soon finds himself in the thick of it, shooting away like it’s all the gunslinger knows. When sickly green toxins spew from gods-ugly mandibles, Prompto fires without fear while Gladio dives for a slab of stone waiting for the stench to dissipate.

The blond feels fine, and it’s kind of amazing.

The battle’s actually going amazingly.

He catches the tail end of Specs shouting about Gladio being something, and dutifully whips around to provide the big guy cover while he presumably downs an antidote. Instead of troublesome insect, he’s greeted with the Shield’s greatsword mere centimeters away from rearranging his face, great ‘whoosh’ of steel singing in his ears as he clumsily trips backwards on his ass. Prompto rolls onto to his knees, makes a mad scramble to get out of the swordsman’s range with all the wide-eyed adrenaline he can muster for his legs to function.

He’s not fast enough.

Prompto yelps when metal cuts across his back, slashing through sleeveless jacket and biting vulnerable flesh beneath. He doesn’t dare stop moving, pelleting pests in his path, and shouts for the Advisor.

Iggy must’ve seen that. Specs notices _everything_ , he’s gotta know that Gladio’s out of his godsdamned-

Prompto gets his answer by dagger in the left shoulder blade.

He’s not quite sure if he screams or not for all the overwhelming buzzing that he can’t tell is white noise from excruciating pain, or doubled visions of Wasps. Grasping the hilt with his bloodied, shaky right hand, he staggers around just in time to see attacker flick his wrist, weapon materializing out of the open wound in favor of the deadly strategist. Iggy’s poised to strike again, and the next won’t be as forgiving.

But Prompto _is_.

He can’t shoot a friend intent on great bodily harm or not. He’d never be able to live with himself even if it means dying because of his stupid big heart. _Six,_ he can’t even risk a couple of offhand shots to disarm the man without a scratch, not about to let an defenseless Iggy fend for himself in this clusterfuck.

Prompto does what he does best.

He _runs._

A hobbling, pathetic limp of a gait for the nearest shelter of steep rockside, ducking from stingers whizzing dangerously close to his head, countered shots sloppy. Slick, unsteady fingers dig into his pockets for a potion doing shit for all the damage, and he fumbles for another, pausing only briefly at catching shining blue light from the corner of his eye.

_Noct!_

The Prince is still warping away, movements choppy as if fatigued in stasis, randomly hacking away from one Wasp to the next. Prompto calls out for him, silently praying for every Astral that'll listen to him for once.

_Let Noct be okay._

His best friend hears his cry, launches his lance to zip past opponents.

Prompto’s a naive fool, doesn't have much time to process that as Noct shows no signs of stopping.

Sharp pain registers at his shin, pinned into place against rock. Whatever little work the potion had managed is certainly undone now, injuries reopened. Prompto’s certain he screams this time, unbearable agony overwhelming as tears spring forth with as much control as he has over this nightmare. It’s like he’s paralyzed, too shocked to move with Noct right in his face. Gorgeous dark orbs stare into him with a glassy sheen, brimmed with murderous intention, and someone’s whimpering if he’s really trying to kill him.

The lance vanishes out of his nicked side, and the blond dares a breath just as it returns but an inch from his heart, positioned to run him through like Noct’s done to countless MTs.

Prompto closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's the best bird in the whole wide world?

Prompto's pitching forward, collapsing on rocky ground, and he doesn’t understand _why_. Shrill cries pierce the thick fog of incomprehension, and while he vaguely recognizes the rarely aggressive tones, he's much too preoccupied trying to understand how he's not dead right now. His body's not responding at warnings to get up and away while he still can, sudden fall having done no favors to dangerous wounds.

There's so much _noise_ , a worrying amount that at least prompts him to open his eyes but a sliver. Gold flashes in his vision, a furious flurry of feathers squawking up a storm with wings swooping and talons kicking. Prompto picks out the crystalline blue that dances around dark sunflower yellow, tries to reach a hand out to no avail. Elbow providing support, he props himself up with addition of the other, blinking and squinting to try to make sense. Rolling onto his back only brings more pain that about drags him under, groping pockets for a potion. His head only clears by a margin, injuries faring no better than if he'd just pressed a bandaid on and hoped for the best.

A part of him wishes he hadn't dared to open his eyes further.

Few Wasps soar around in tight formation, deadly droning filling his ears as much as insistent trills and human grunts. Ignis and Gladio are inbound to Noct’s aid, engaging in combat with whoever dares cross their path. Prompto’s somehow on his feet, heavily supported by the sharp surface, dizzy and disorientated to all the chaos. It’s all too overwhelming, too much all at once, and he’s going to be sick.

A chilling shriek penetrates all muddled thought.

Cerulean tracks the source, spies spilled crimson-soaked feathers littering the ground. The cry that escapes sounds nothing like him, fierce yet so afraid. All pain is but a distant memory, unimportant to the sole directive that spurs Prompto into action.

_Save Mico._

Starshell bursts into the sky like a brilliant firecracker, taking all attention away and nearly blinds himself in the process. Stumbling, he puts everything he has into each step closer to his bird. Prompto tugs the reins like a lifeline, injured chocobo pulling him away as much as he desperately shoves for her to move with all the adrenaline-fueled strength that remains.

The wounds will have to wait.

* * *

They can’t wait any longer.

Prompto doesn’t know how far they’ve managed to flee in the endless landscape, only that he hopes it’s enough. Nonstop teary praise babbles out of him when they stumble to a halt, unable to proceed any further on weak legs that’ve performed a miracle put in distance at all. He bites his lip at inspecting the slash on her wing once a heap on the ground, whispering wobbly apologies over and over as he shakily removes her riding gear and digs into his pocket for a curative.

He finds only one.

“ _I-I’ve got yo-you, Mi.”_ Her dying rider doesn’t hesitate to pour healing liquid over the injury, frets at the possibility of poison and discovers no stinger nor symptoms to his relief. Prompto shucks his ripped jacket off, binds her wing just in case to stave off unwanted infection. “ _You’ll be o-okay. Good, good bir-bird.”_

Mico ‘kweh’s worriedly, nudges her beak against his matted hair. He thinks he’s trying to assure her as he slumps back against her other side, putting trembling pressure on his shin and shoulder that burn as hot as the Infernian despite feeling as chilly as Shiva. This is bad, and while he knows better than to fall asleep before seeking proper treatment, he hasn't the strength to move and especially not when Mico protectively curls her neck across his lap. Prompto means to stay awake, he really does, resisting the darkness that’s so welcoming as always. 

He doesn’t win.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where's Prompto?

Noct’s head is killing him.

Something’s _wrong_.

The feeling hooks in his heart, line tangled, sinking him into a despair he can’t determine the source of. Not as he tries to clear his mind at the task at hand of slaying a pesky Soldier, nor at slicing the stinger off a vicious Killer before it gets a chance to impale him. One of them must have tried, or so he thinks, with a much-too-sharp-to-have-been-a-bug rip through the front of his fatigues without recollection of _when._

It’s frustrating.

It’s _terrifying._

Ignis is at his right side, attacks linking together in a final strike to finish off the fifth insect. Gladio’s riding solo on the last, sword swinging ferociously as if in just as much a hurried frenzy as him. The apparent shared dread is a mystery, and something within doesn’t want it to be solved as if already knowing why. Regardless, he’d better go find Prompto and rub it in his face that there was nothing to worry about after all. The gunner’ll whine and mope all he likes, but he’ll never see the comfort his safety brings Noct.

Speaking of _see_ , however, he’s nowhere in sight, and Noct frowns. It’s been too quiet, now that he thinks about it, a lack of gunshots and silence instead of crowing of victory and cheery celebration of being alive. Ignis seems to have picked up on it as well, pausing from collecting proof of their bounty, and there’s a contemplative look on his face like he’s been thinking for quite some time. The Advisor reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone, and Noct’s immediately reminded of when that’d been their only lifeline to the blond.

He’ll answer it, though. Prompto _always_ answers his phone.

The relief vanishes in the second it dawns on Iggy’s tense features at device answered, paling as he then turns around and Noct follows his gaze.

Gladio has it, and by the look on his face, that’s not all.

There’s blood on dirt, not the disgusting vile-green of Wasps. Dried red is spilled in arcs, copper-colored puddles seeped into dry earth. Bloody handprints mark the ground and steep rock. Scattered gilded feathers tainted with crimson tug at memory’s crevice.

Noct’s going to be sick.

“There’s a trail.” Is all Gladio says, as if not wanting to put the pieces together despite having a clear image. “I can track it.”

Noct summons the chocobo whistle, but can’t find his breath. Ignis rests a firm hand on his shoulder, retrieves it from clammy hands that easily surrender.

Only three arrive.

* * *

Mico hears the call, and goes against all trained instinct to obey. She nudges her delirious little chick with a firm beak, and receives only a slurred speech of pleading nonsense as an uncoordinated limb attempts to push her away.

“ _L-Leave ‘e, Mi’o.”_ Prompto begs, only spurring her worry. “ _Dun le’em ‘ill you. You go’ta g-go!”_

The chocobo trills in response, a soft cooing sound, which oddly only makes him more upset. She preens his hair, but the chick just whimpers.

“ _Mi-Mi’o, pl-please. G-Go!”_

Fellow avians cry out in the distance, and her beak makes a low clicking noise. Prompto’s voice is hardly audible, brimming with distress, and he whines even as she shifts. Tugging at the neck of his shirt, Mico drags him across her feathery back, gunner as limp and listless as cargo. She ‘kweh’s softly, beak threading disheveled blond locks before cautiously rising on unsteady legs with unstable balance due to bound wing.

Undeterred, the best chocobo in the world sets off at the fastest trot she can manage in the opposite direction.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search party comes to an end.

The trail leads to more blood.

Mico’s discarded saddle lies abandoned on cracked ground, the sight unsettling to restless chocobos.

“Can't be far.” Gladio supplies with as much good news as bad. A relief that boy and bird can't have gotten much further in their conditions, yet only adding fuel to fear’s fire of what they'll find.

 _Please let Prompto be okay._ Anxious fingers twist in tightly gripped leather, Piscis releasing an irritated squawk and shake of head. Noct can't help it, closing his eyes only bringing brief visions of a bloody blond. He doesn't know what he'll do if Prompto’s _not_ \- if _he’s_ \- all _because-_

“Noct.” Iggy’s voice is sharp, edged with urgency like he's been trying to get the Prince’s attention for some time. “Listen.”

It takes all his focus to, not helped by Gladio dismounting to confirm the source on foot. The swordsman wasn't wrong, distinct chocobo cries ringing off rocky mountain walls. Noct has an elixir in hand, uncertain how long he's been clutching to it as he stumbles off Piscis to join in his Shield’s cautious advance.

If he couldn't breathe before, he certainly can't now.

Prompto lies facedown on the ground, a motionless twist of fallen limbs much to his limping chocobo’s distress. Mico nudges him, a whole string of sounds escaping in attempts to rouse him, but not a single response in return. He’s as still as the dead, bird nestling protectively around him like a shield with beak preening limp hair, and Noct about loses his mind.

“ _Prom-!”_ He lunges forward, stopped only by Gladio gripping his arm and yanking him back like a ragdoll.

It’s too late.

Element of surprise shattered, Mico rises on high alert, beady eyes glaring in their direction as she hobbles onto unsteady feet and nearly loses her balance standing over her unconscious chick. Feathers puff out her size, neck dipping low in preparation to charge, warnings hissed between threatening snaps of beak. Mico’s primed to protect Prompto with her life, sight as heartwarming with loyalty as much as it is breaking for chocobo with nothing to lose and unknowingly what stands between them and healing her precious rider.

“We must be swift and careful.” Ignis advises, voice low yet on edge for a situation out of his control. Mico paces in place on sharp talons, dangerously close to cutting exposed pallid skin, not a bird for patience with her rider’s safety on the line. “One false move, and she may do more harm than good.”

Noct bites his lip, a habit picked up by the blond, and finds himself nearly crushing the curative in his hand. Slowly, he holds it out and expects Gladio to snatch him back before he makes another well-meaning yet foolish mistake. A talon sweeps across earth, landing mere centimeters from the ribboned bicep. Noct winces.

“ _Please_.” His voice can’t be any gentler, any more pleading. “I-I know we messed up, but you have to let me see him.”

He’s negotiating with a chocobo that probably hasn’t a clue what he’s saying, or is too rightfully pissed to care.

“Prompto’s hurt.” If not already dead, impossible to tell if he’s even breathing. Noct dares a step forward at the thought. “Please, Mico, I can heal him.”

The chocobo stares, intelligent gaze locked on the elixir bottle. Prompto’s always bragged what a clever bird she is, almost as if scrutinizing Noct’s every minuscule movement more intensely than any political diplomat he’d been forced to banquet with.

“You know what this is, don’t you, Mico? You know I’d never do anything to--” _Hurt him._ That’s a lie now, as much as he doesn’t recall of it. With his ripped shirt and Mico’s clearly injured wing, he doesn’t doubt he had harmed her as well, a miracle in and of itself that she’s not out for his blood. Yet. “I’m sorry, I-I-I don’t know what came over us, but _please_. You have to _trust me_. This elixir’ll save him. You know it will.”

Mico doesn’t budge.

Her head, however, bows slightly, and he takes a few steps more until she could easily attack him with outstretched neck.

She doesn’t, instead making a soft peep of noise.

Noct isn’t aware he’s closed the gap until he’s dropping to his knees before the blond, pain jolting him to the present. The chocobo releases a warning squawk at Advisor and Shield getting too close, but otherwise remains quiet, impatiently waiting for the time that Noct doesn’t waste. Prompto’s covered in blood, gets it all over his hands when he turns him over and props the blond up on his lap. He’s never seen him so pale, so void of life, that he doesn’t check for a pulse before upending the vial past blanched lips. Healing magic sparks over ashen freckled skin, expression remaining void as if just peacefully asleep.

Nothing changes.

Noctis never thought anything could compare to the death of his father and destruction of their home, and he’s never wanted to be so very, very wrong as tears drip off his chin and splash onto pasty cheeks below. He pulls the body close, cradles him in his arms.

Losing Prompto is a pain beyond all imaginable, and there’s no one to blame but himself.

“ _I-I’m so, so sorry, I-”_

The smallest of groans interrupts, a faint utterance of raspy sound.

Noct pulls back, staring wide-eyed at glazed, unfocused sky blue opened just a crack. They flutter shut as fast as they had opened, and Mico unleashes an anxious ‘kweh’. Tiny signs of life are beating ever so weakly, skin a scarce shade more true. Ignis and Gladio are soon in his peripherals, curatives at the ready and administered to the limp frame. Sluggishly bleeding wounds as clear as day to the guilty party are scarred over, morbid air near suffocating. There’s only one sword that could have caused such damage, and The Shield knows it. Ignis recognizes his blades’ handiwork anywhere. Noctis can’t get the image out of his head, the pure fear and whispered question if Noct’s really going to kill him with lance hovering over his pounding heart.

_They all did this._

The Prince feels Prompto being carefully lifted out of his arms, and he fights to hold on until he registers Iggy’s hands back on his shoulders.

“We _will_ care for him properly back at camp.” There’s no doubt or hesitation of The Advisor’s abilities to make it so as Gladio hoists the unconscious gunner atop a summoned Ferrum. Mico follows, melding into the crimson bird’s side with the softest of cooing noises as she limps.

Noct stumbles onto his feet by help of Ignis, steadied by Piscis making her way over to her rider as he somehow gets on. She falls in line at Mico’s free side for support, golden chocobo protected in a tight formation, but all Noct can focus on is the tender grip Gladio has on Prompto.

He’s stirring again, slumped against the big guy’s chest, as confused and delirious as Noct’s ever seen him with head swaying and squinting as if trying to confirm something.

“ _s’Mi gon’ b’kay?”_

“Y-Yeah, you’re gonna be okay, Prom.”

Prompto doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer, hardly able to squirm to try and resist Gladio holding him still. He’s unconscious in the next blink.

Their destination is only minutes away with Mico leading the way as if the chocobo had been heading there all along.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all scars are physical.

They watch over Prompto in shifts with Mico acting sentry from where she's nested up in the tent right at her chick's side. It's been two days, and Prompto has yet to wake. Gladio can't look at him without the urge to hit something, desire to become stronger to protect him countered with the sight of scarred slash across shoulders. Though Noctis is his sole sworn duty, the Shield feels like he’s failed the blond, and it doesn’t sit well with him at all. Ignis fairs better, transforming overwhelming guilt into his nurturing nature. Even so, his hands contain a subtle shake when redressing bandages as if afraid to touch. He despises himself for hesitating over the healed shoulder gash, a wound truly no different than those suffered on the daily, yet one that never should have existed. There’s no atoning for such a grievous slip-up and Ignis knows their companion well enough that _he’ll_ be apologizing first. The Advisor intends to repay him however he’s able and more.

Noct manages the worst, wanting nothing more than to just hold Prompto’s hand.

Instead, he takes up residence at his friend’s free side, curled into a ball with chin resting on hugged knees. The Prince runs conversations in his mind of endless apologies that’ll never be enough, and bittersweet acceptance if Prompto never wants to see any of their faces again. Trembling fingers reach out for the gloved hand resting at the sleeping boy’s side, only to flinch at the last second when eyes catch on the bandages on the injury he’d ruthlessly inflicted. Noct withdraws immediately, burying his face in his hands and stays that way until Gladio taps his shoulder that he needs to eat, too.

* * *

 

Prompto wakes later that evening, lying in a daze to gather his scattered bearings. Mico’s curled up next to him, a snoozing puffball of feathers, and he spies shirt and jacket neatly folded nearby, good as new. Taking a herculean effort, he manages to sit up with heavy assistance of elbows, blanket pooling on his lap to reveal bandages wrapped tightly around tender torso and sore shoulder. The memories are as sharp as the weapons that cut him, everything else blurry like smudged glass that only gets messier the more Prompto tries to clear his throbbing head.

A hoarse groan slips past chapped lips, wondering just what the hell crawled up his desert of a mouth and died when there’s a telltale sign of someone approaching, flickering silhouette overshadowing the sparse light within. Prompto himself doesn’t know why he tenses, breath catching in his throat. The flap opens, revealing only Ignis, and a terrified yelp rips out of him. Panic overtakes his mind, the action of scooting backwards with barely responsive body near impossible, more a desperate attempt to fling himself away until his back hits the tent wall. Everything _hurts_ , and he fights the urge to cry from the pulsing pain.

Ignis hasn’t moved, but gods does he look like he wants to. The Advisor holds up his hands clear for Prompto to see where they are, holding an object that isn’t anything that can hurt him. A bowl of broth, likely. He takes a slow step backwards, even, gauging the blond’s wild look in distant eyes that relax at extended distance.

“You mustn’t strain yourself, Prompto.” Ignis speaks calmly, voice steady. “I fear your injuries may have reopened just now. Might I have your permission to approach to check?”

Prompto bites his lip, glances over at Mico who sleeps surprisingly undisturbed. He winces at the scar marked by loss of golden plumes.

“ _Is Mi gonna be okay?_ ” How Ignis manages to interpret the whispery-rasp, Prompto’ll never know. He finds he doesn’t care as the man nods as if something’s clicked into place and there’s a flash of frustration that he thinks he must have imagined.

“Yes, she’ll be just fine according to Wiz’s diagnosis. Your potion certainly saw to that.” Word of the chocobo’s clean bill of health brings him relief just like the Advisor suspected from the start, impressed by the boy’s caring heart yet dissatisfied at his lack of personal care. He keeps it to himself beneath the guise of calm and safety that Prompto needs, gesturing to the red ribbon that’s tied around his own arm.

“Will you allow me closer to inspect?”

Prompto nods after a moment, Ignis restraining himself from sudden movements over a few steps that’ve never felt longer as he watches the blond critically of any discomfort. Setting the bowl aside, he kneels next to him.

“I’m going to check your back first, alright?”

“ _‘kay._ ” The gunner confirms, and even with as overly gentle and cautious as Ignis is, he still shivers at cool fingers touching bare skin.

Ignis keeps talking, a low murmur that he has to keep focus in order to listen. Honestly, he doesn’t make out half the words, but Iggy’s accented voice sounds as soothing as always, and that’s really all that matters to shot nerves. It’s also what tethers him from falling into madness when the tent flies open unannounced, Noct bursting in with Gladio right behind him.

Words as loud as their surprise entrance have Prompto shudder and shrink back even as Mico ‘kweh’s awake, adding to the noisy disturbance. Ignis pivots to face the unknowingly harmful intruders with a glare sure to paralyze the most fearsome of beasts into cowering away with tail between legs. The two fall silent, but the damage that was already there has spread further. It’s like time has gone still, no one making a move except Mico who stretches to rest her head onto Prompto’s lap, nuzzling against queasy stomach. She’s so soft and warm, trembling hands gravitating into therapeutic sunshine gold. All eyes are on him, the attention he used to happily bask in only making him want to recoil further into Mico’s presence despite the ribbons they plainly wear. Worry is palpable on every face, and Prompto knows it to be his own stupid fault. They’re sorry, all three of them are, sincere with remorseful apologies that bring ache in place of comfort.

“ _No, no. ‘s’my fault for getting in the wa-way, y’know?”_ He weakly protests, forcing a smile and painful attempt of a shrug that tries to set them at ease with no success.

The closeness of them all and in such a tight space is overwhelming as counters of continued apologies drag on, claustrophobia having a field day with how the sole escape is blocked off where Gladio and Noctis stand. He idly strokes Mico’s feathers to distract himself, wincing at the big guy moving to scratch the back of his neck, unaware he’d stopped when the avian clicks her beak in want of more affection. Ignis notices like he does to everything, and while he doesn’t wish to have Prompto’s hands withdraw from calming chocobo, pushes the previously ignored broth closer for when he feels ready.

“It is rather late in the hour, and so we’d best turn in for the evening.” The Advisor announces softly, both companions taking the hint and their leave, but not without a final promise of amends and bid of good night. Prompto’s eyes sting, biting his lip with a nod and apologies going unsaid.

It’s much easier to breathe when they’re gone and exit in plain sight, but loss of their company still hurts.

“Please, do try to eat and drink before resting. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to call for whoever you feel more comfortable with.” Ignis advises, telegraphing his move to stand back up before proceeding. He pauses at the entryway, looking back at him with such a fondness that Prompto’s never thought him capable of showing.

“You are far more important to us than you’ll ever let yourself believe, Prompto Argentum. Never forget that.”

And then he’s gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two oblivious idiots have a chat and avoid talking about the feelings that are obviously there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter of "Fatum Uitta". Thank you so much for reading, kudos-ing, and leaving comments. I love nothing more than seeing the emotional reactions I've caused <3 Until next time!

_“Noct! Help! Please!”_

Prompto’s screaming, a choked howl of sheer desperation, and Noct _can’t find him._ Dizzying drones of swarming Wasps weave around in a twisted dance, thick toxic clouds obstructing darting vision trying to pinpoint the cries. He swings blindly, warping into one monster to the next, Gladio sure to mock his sloppy form, but he _doesn’t care_. Prompto is all that matters, and _he can’t find him._ Noct’s sure he’s screaming his name to the heavens, but not a word of it reaches his ears. His body follows only one command, viciously hacking away at anything that dares get too close.

**_Kill them all._ **

Bloodlust ravages through him like an ominous omen, and Noct lets it. He’ll slay whatever crosses his path to get to the gunner, no matter the cost to himself.

Through the haze, he locates Prompto doubled over against stone, bloody and beaten, and the lance takes flight before he’s even aware of it. Like a freeze frame, Noct can distinguish every flicker of emotion that flashes across the blond’s open book of a face. Relief like the sight of a haven after a long, daemon-infested night. Fragile worry wavers in just for a brief second, a delayed reaction as if just now realizing something’s amiss. Noct isn’t stopping, but gods is he trying to as if cut off from all control, hands shaking in useless defiance as he launches forward one last time.

Pain shatters everything with a wordless wail, Noct so close he can count every each and every freckle on blood spattered cheeks dripping with tears. Prompto looks at him. Looks at him with intangible anguish at his best friend’s murderous intentions like this is all some nightmare he can’t wake from.

Neither can Noctis, pleading every fiber of his being to **_stop_**.

“ _Noct, are-are you seriously trying to kill me?”_

**_No, no, no, not Prompto!_ **

The lance materializes over Prompto’s chest, thundering heartbeat pulsing through the weapon as if he holds the blond’s very heart in his hand.

He doesn’t stop.

* * *

 

Noct wakes with a jolt, chest heaving and body chilled with sweat. Piscis sleepily warbles protest at Prince detaching himself from beneath her blanketing wing, but he pays her no mind over the pounding in his ears.

 _He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine._ The mantra he’d been repeating since rescuing the sharpshooter drills in his head, grounding phrases proven true mere hours ago at Prompto finally, _finally_ waking up. Noct moves briskly, tiptoeing past a surprisingly sleeping Gladio and Ignis, slipping inside the tent without thinking.

It’s not the first time he’s snuck in to seek visible proof that Prompto’s alive and well, calmed by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Instead of comatose, however, the blond's wide awake, having been buried against gilded feathers until Noct had so carelessly strolled in. There's immediate fear in those weary, shining sapphire crystals rimmed with red, and the Prince back tracks to exit.

“Shit, sorry, I’ll leave-”

“ _D-Don't go.”_

Noct freezes, certain he couldn't have heard that whispered plea right. He chances a look over his shoulder to Prompto nibbling nervously at his bottom lip, eyes averted to the floor. Fingers fiddle with the blanket, a fidgeting habit left unbroken after all these years to muster up the courage to request for even the simplest of things.

_“Stay. Please?”_

He nods slowly, standing awkwardly and unsure of how to continue from here.

“You, um. Not sleeping well?” It's a stupid question with an obvious answer, Prompto shaking his head that he isn't. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

But a smile creeps out like a single beam of sunlight in densely clouded skies, and it's the most beautiful thing Noct’s ever seen.

“M-Must be real bad if you can't s-sleep.”

“Unbelievable.” He can't help a snort and eyeroll, and the smile brightens just a smidge. “Is. Is it okay if I-I sit next to you?”

Prompto bites his lip, smile eclipsed by warring uncertainty. He nods, because there's nothing he wants more than the comfort of his best friend at his side even after everything both body and mind won't forget. Even so, Noct hesitates.

“You're not going to hurt me.” Prompto insists, voicing Noct’s concern as well as addressing the lingering fear warping his judgement. Despite the assurance, the photographer still tenses and Noct takes a spot as far from him as possible, arms firmly encircling knees.

A moment of suffering silence passes.

“Noct, I-”

“Look, Prom-”

“S-Sorry-”

“Don't sweat it. You go first.”

“Forget it. It's stupid.”

“Not if it's bugging you.”

Another beat of quiet, and he thinks Prompto’s not going to say anything after all.

“Are...can...we...we're still friends, yeah?”

“That's what you're so worried about?”

“Told you it’s stu-”

“Shit, Prom, that's what I should be asking _you_. _I-I’m_ the one that-that hurt _you_.”

“Wasn't just you, Noct.” Prompto reminds with a quiet murmur, curling in on himself as if being smaller will keep him safe from harm. Mico cooes in her sleep, and he absent-mindedly scratches beneath her beak. “I don't ever want to not be friends. I mean, yeah, that was all messed up, but it's no one's fault, y’know? ‘sides, I had the best chocobo in the world keeping watch over me, right, girl?”

“Pretty sure that bird kicked all our asses.” Getting knocked off his feet by a feisty overgrown featherduster was the best thing to have happened, pride be damned, nightmares playing out every worse case had maternal chocobo not intervened.

“No way! My Mico wouldn't hurt a fly!” Prompto huffs with mock scandalization, poorly concealed giggling giving him away.

The following pause isn't so stifling, instead warm in place of numbing cold.

“We're...We're okay then? Just like that?”

“Don't make a habit of chasing me down trying to kill me, and yeah. We're cool.” The blond is way too nonchalant about it, as if desperate for everything to return to normal. Too forgiving as usual for something so abysmal, even for a heart larger than a behemoth. “Think I've had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime.”

“No kidding.”

“But.”

“But what?”

“If you don't come over here right now, our friendship is totally over.”

“You sure you're okay with me-”

“How else am I supposed to comfort you from way over there?”

“Who said I need it?”

“Dude, you totally did.”

“Dude, don't you ‘dude’ me.”

It's Prompto’s turn to roll his eyes, dramatically beckoning Noct over with open arms. They're both smirking with humor, however, unable to help a laugh at their typical ridiculous banter like nothing’s changed. Prompto wills himself to stay still from every nerve screaming to flee as Noct concentrates on every slow step like a toddler walking for the first time. It's almost the same.

Noct ends up lying next to him, waiting for Prompto to make the first move to get comfortable. He holds his breath, almost doesn't catch the ‘ _he won't hurt you, you're fine, you're fine’_ whispered like a prayer.

“Prompto...” The Prince starts to draw away, pausing only by the blond vigorously shaking his head.

“N-No. I'm-I'm okay.” He takes a shudder of a deep breath that most certainly is not. Gritting his teeth, Prompto shuts his eyes and takes in another. “Shoulder just hurts from getting your butt over here, that's all.”

That's a lie if Noct's ever heard one.

“We. We're good, though? Like, for real good?” Gorgeous sky blue peer up at him through thick lashes, teeth worrying away once more at abused lip. They're so close, and Noct swears he can count every freckle dusted in pink.

He's probably got a fever on top of everything else, adding yet another reason to be concerned for his best friend’s well-being. It's a long list, one that Noct will take to his grave before admitting to it.

“Yeah. We're good, Prom.” The promise soothes him, and Noct smiles softly at how much it placates the blond. “You, uh, you okay if I take your hand?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Gingerly like it's the world's greatest treasure, he moves Prompto’s hand atop where the new ribbon resides on his own bicep.

“So you know I won't hurt you. Not unless you deserve it at King's Knight, of course.”

Prompto doesn't say anything, bottom lip quivering between teeth.

“ _C-Can I?_ ” The smallest voice mumbles and Noct nods, willing to do whatever Prompto wishes.

His free hand shakes slightly as he moves, threading fingers together before gently pulling them towards his beating chest.

“ _So. So you know I'm safe_.”

Noct's certain he must be getting sick, heart thumping faster than it ought to be. Then again, maybe it's not compared to how his races. Prompto doesn’t let their hands go, and he's grateful for it. More than grateful, because he's an idiot that's in love with his best friend.

“Prompto, I-I-”

A light snore breaks what little confidence he had mustered, and yet Noct's okay with that. There's no way Prompto would ever reciprocate anyway, especially not after all this. Staying friends, he's happy to even have their fates remain as that.

“I'm really glad you're okay.”

* * *

 

Come morning, the pair is inseparable in sleep, unable to tell which limb belongs to who for how they're contently cuddled together. Gladio snaps away photos for future blackmail purposes, halted by a sharp glare from Specs that promptly deletes all physical evidence. Mentally, he'll keep the sight forever in his heart as he tuts with his tongue before readjusting the blanket to better cover the two.

“You'll look after these hopeless lovebirds, won't you?” He muses to watchful chocobo, stroking Mico’s feathers before offering a hearty helping of sylkis greens. “Their happiness is far more important to Gladio and I than they'll ever believe.”

 


End file.
